


stone number one

by iamremy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Loves Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester Use Their Words, Episode Tag, Episode: s15e17 Unity, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sam Winchester Loves Dean Winchester, a whole lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:08:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27289939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/iamremy
Summary: He’d made a promise, years ago. Nothing in front of Sam. He had every intention of keeping it.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 20
Kudos: 144





	stone number one

**Author's Note:**

> this episode was. SO INTENSE by the end. i spent most of it an emotional mess because THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO FUCKING MUCH. SO FUCKING MUCH.

Every few weeks, once in a while, Sam would sleep in. He would still be in bed whenever Dean woke up, fast asleep, relaxed in a way Dean rarely got to see. He wouldn’t wake up even when Dean would go in to check on him. It was the one thing he allowed himself on days when there was no pressing end-of-the-world matter to attend to.

Dean can’t remember the last time Sam slept in.

“You know it’s not personal, right?” he’d said to Jack, at some point on their drive back home.

Jack had looked up. “Sorry?”

“You doing all of this, me not stopping you… it’s not personal,” Dean clarified.

“Oh.” Jack looked away again. “You don’t need to explain it, Dean. It’s fine.”

For a moment Dean considered explaining himself anyway, but then thought better of it. The kid had overheard him saying he wasn’t family the way Sam and Cas were. There really wasn’t a way to make that sound better.

He’d thought of Sam, then. His good, kind little brother, who loved with his whole heart, who’d put so much of himself into Jack. Who wasn’t speaking to Dean, who could barely stand to look at Jack without his face flushing with the effort not to cry.

He’d thought of John, then. John who’d said he loved Sam, John who’d told Dean to kill Sam. John, who’d never had faith in Sam, not when it counted, John who had no idea how truly _good_ his son was. John, who’d gone Sam’s entire life thinking his son was going to grow up to be a monster.

He’d wondered if John would have sacrificed Sam if it had meant finding Azazel, or saving the world. And then he realized that yes, he would have. What else did it mean, asking Dean to kill Sam?

And then - following that train of thought to its logical conclusion - Dean had realized that he’d become just like his father. 

He’d thought of Sam again.

He’d thought of their freedom. Their lives. Sam letting himself sleep in.

There was irony in there somewhere - he’d become John, and he’d done it for Sam’s sake. He’d done it for a chance at a good life with Sam. Hell, maybe he was worse - John at least had been selfless about saving the world.

And, Dean realized as he drove, Jack silent next to him - he didn’t feel any regret.

Guilt, yes. For not caring more that Jack was going to die for them. For lying to Sam. For not loving Jack the way Sam did.

But no regret. 

He could never regret loving Sam. He could never regret how it twisted him up inside, how it made him do things he would have put down any other creature for. He could never regret the things he allowed to happen, the things he wished for in the darkest recesses of his mind, every single thing that would have made some older version of him drown in sheer self-hatred.

He’d made a promise, years ago. Nothing in front of Sam. He had every intention of keeping it.

He finds Sam, after. He’s in his room, sitting on the bed with his knees up to his chest, staring at a point on the wall opposite. 

“Hey,” Dean says quietly, knocking on the open door. “Mind if I come in?”

Sam jumps a little, jolted out of his thoughts, and then nods. “Yeah, come on in,” he tells Dean, shifting to make space for Dean.

Dean takes him up on it, sitting down next to him, legs outstretched. “How’s Jack?” he asks.

Sam doesn’t look at him. “Okay,” he answers shortly. “Hanging on.”

“And you?” Dean asks, after a moment.

Sam shrugs. “Hanging on,” he repeats. He sounds brittle, breakable.

Dean reaches out, touches the bridge of Sam’s nose lightly. His face is bruised, purple-black around an eye, and Dean’s stomach revolts at the memory of his knuckles hitting Sam’s face.

“I did that,” he murmurs. “And I was going to shoot you.”

Sam is completely still under Dean’s touch. 

“What if I had?” Dean whispers, not sure who exactly he’s directing the question to.

“I knew you weren’t going to,” Sam replies, leaning back so that his head rests against the headboard.

“How could you have known?” Dean asks, letting his hand fall back to his side. “I had the safety off, Sam. I would have shot you.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Sam says again.

It never ceases to amaze him, all the faith Sam has in him. Sam’s ironclad belief that Dean wouldn’t hurt him, despite all the times in the past that Dean _had_ hurt him.

“All the same,” he says in the end, knowing he owes Sam this at the very least, “I’m sorry, Sam.”

Sam glances at him out of the corner of his eyes, and then goes back to staring at the opposite wall. “I know,” he says.

He’s never deserved the forgiveness that comes so easily to Sam.

“How did you know I’d listen to you?” Dean asks, in the end. “That I wouldn’t shoot you?”

“Because that wasn’t you, not really,” Sam tells him. “It was more Chuck than you.”

“And he didn’t get to you?” Dean questions. “You never wondered, for a moment, if everything was… you know. Real?”

Sam shakes his head. “No,” he says simply. 

“How come?”

“Stone number one,” Sam replies, turning to look at him. “You’re real. That’s all I’ve ever needed to know.”

“Even now?” Dean feels a little unmoored, suddenly. “When nothing else makes sense?”

“Even now,” Sam confirms. “ _Especially_ now.”

Dean contemplates this for a few moments. Sam would know, he thinks. What’s real, what’s not real, what to believe in… Sam would know. And he’s got all this faith in Dean, all this love for him, this belief in him that Dean can’t even really process without feeling like he could implode from it, from the warmth of Sam by his side-

“Do you think,” he says slowly, quietly, “that you could be that for me?”

“Your stone number one?” Sam asks. 

Dean nods. “Just… when I need to know what’s real,” he says. 

“Of course,” Sam says at once. “You don’t have to ask, Dean. You never have to ask. Just-”

“Trust you,” Dean finishes.

Sam nods.

“You’re the only thing I _can_ trust,” confesses Dean, after a few quiet seconds. “The one person I can count on, for anything.”

Sam smiles. “Good, you’re already there, then,” he says, and nudges Dean’s shoulder with his.

Dean can feel the warmth of Sam’s skin even through both their shirts. He can feel Sam’s body move with every breath he takes. He’s solid and real by Dean’s side, and he’s the best thing in the world, the brightest spot in Dean’s life, the one thing that Dean can never regret.

“C’mere,” he says quietly, and pulls Sam in.

Sam leans into the embrace, putting his arms back around Dean, and lets himself be held up. Dean tightens his grip, presses his lips to Sam’s hair, and murmurs, “I’m sorry. Sammy, I’m so sorry.”

Not sorry for putting Sam first. Never sorry for that. Not sorry for anything except hurting him.

He’s too tired to think about how both those concepts have somehow become tangled up in each other, how he can no longer separate prioritizing Sam from hurting him.

“I know,” Sam whispers. It's an acknowledgment. He knows what Dean’s thinking.

It’s not over, not by a long shot. Jack’s dying, and Billie wants to take over the world, and Chuck ate Amara, and everything is going to crap quicker than Dean could ever have anticipated. But Sam’s leaning into him, head on Dean’s shoulder, and for once, he’s not the price Dean has to pay. For once, Dean can _keep_ him, have him safe and free by his side. 

And maybe, one morning, he can come into Sam’s room and find him fast asleep, because he didn’t set an alarm, because there’s no end-of-the-world crisis, because he can. Maybe Dean can put the blanket up higher on Sam’s body, and brush his hair out of his face, and Sam won’t wake up. And when that happens, all the pain and guilt and tears will be worth it.

Dean has no regrets.

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you thought! and feel free to discuss the episode in the comments, if you want! you can also find me on tumblr @[thelegendofwinchester](https://chesterbennington.co.vu/)!
> 
> love,  
> remy


End file.
